


Out of Element

by oxiosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxiosa/pseuds/oxiosa
Summary: Luciano curses under his breath, brings his knees to chest and hugs himself. He is freezing cold and feels miserable, and if he has to be honest, a little bitter too. The one thing he needed for Martín - the one and only thing he needed from him - he can’t provide.
Relationships: Argentina/Brazil (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Out of Element

**Author's Note:**

> Characters belong to the community Latin Hetalia and their respective creators ♥
> 
> Argentina: Martín.  
> Brazil: Luciano.

Luciano has always felt he was meant to be a waterbender. He doesn’t think he would be himself if he had been born to master any other element; earth is imposing and powerful, fire is vigorous and compelling, and air is flamboyant and liberating, but water feels right on a spiritual level Luciano cannot explain. He feels alive in the water, either floating on the soft warm currents of a river, diving into the mighty wild waves of the ocean, or something as mundane and simple as standing under a downpour that has caught him off guard. Water feels like the familiar comforting embrace of a mother; a second home, a second nature.

Luciano has never been afraid of water - until now.

The rivers in the far South are nothing like the river that raised Luciano. Back in the hot wet rainforest, the river is everything to his tribe. It has always provided for them, has watched Luciano’s people give birth and die over and over again. The beginning and the end of life itself.

This river is nothing like Luciano’s river. The water is crystal clear, crowned with beautiful hints of bright blues and greens unlike the brown muddy waters Luciano has known all his life. Where Luciano is used to the caress of warm welcoming waters, this river is ice cold, feels like thousands of tiny needles painfully stabbing into his skin.

The most striking difference perhaps, is that Luciano’s beloved river has never tried to drown him.

The violent rush of the current of this river - so different and so foreign - drags him mercilessly like a vertiginous slide of ice freezing water. The cold sends his muscles into a tight lock, paralyzes his whole body as if Luciano himself has turned into ice. His body feels as unresponsive as the angry current pulling him, and he struggles to keep afloat, struggles to push air into his lungs.

Luciano has always considered himself a skilled bender, but the force of this river is beyond anything he has ever faced. He tries to coax the water around him - around  _ them  _ -, but it won’t comply, as if he was dealing with a wild vicious monster which refuses to be tamed.

He clings to Sofía’s reins, presses his thighs on her sides as she desperately paddles in the water trying to keep them afloat, kicking with her powerful claws yet unable to fight the current. Close ahead, Martín is not doing much better. He in fact seems to be doing worse; he had to dismount Brisa and is the one keeping his mount’s head above the surface, clinging to her saddle as he tries to calm her down; rhea-horses might be faster and swifter than tamarin jaguars in land, but Sofía is far beyond a better swimmer.

Luciano is not sure how he makes it - it is a lucky try out of many, the right move in the right moment - but he eventually manages to redirect the current dragging them enough for it to push them to shore. It is not a gentle turn, and the landing on the hard grabble is violent and harsh, but Luciano has managed to pull them out of the river. They are breathing and alive, and that is more than enough.

Luciano drops on top of Sofía’s soaked back, breathless and exhausted. He slowly climbs off her saddle, but his muscles feel numb and weak and he collapses to the floor. He rolls to the side, closes his eyes and curls around himself as he shivers violently.

He has never felt so cold in his entire life.

“I  _ told you  _ that b-bridge didn’t look s-sturdy,” Luciano hisses, gritting his teeth together to keep them from clattering. 

Martín doesn’t reply, and Luciano takes it as a sign he must know he was right about the bridge in the end. Luciano doesn’t move, too cold to try, but hears Martín raise to his feet and head for Brisa’s whimpering form. Luciano opens his eyes and looks up with surprise when he hears a loud wet thumb close to his head.

“W-What the hell you d-doing?” he forces out.

Martín has taken Brisa’s saddle off and carelessly dropped it on the mud. Free of the weight, Brisa shakes her head and ruffles her feathers sending water flying like a soft drizzle of rain.

“Get up,” Martín orders Luciano - there is an uncharacteristic stiffness to his movement and a light shivering of his hands as he works on Brisa’s reins that Luciano attributes to the cold. “You need to take Sofía’s s-saddle off too.”

Luciano doesn’t think he can move.

“You d-do it,” he answers and hugs himself tighter like some pouty child.

“Luciano, get up or you’ll freeze,” Martín snaps harshly.

Martín has a compelling argument, for a change. Luciano finds that forcing his locked muscles to move is hard - his arms and legs feel clumsy and weak, as if he didn’t have full control of them to begin with. He doesn’t feel the tip of his fingers, and the parts of his body he does feel ache with a piercing cold he has never thought possible before.

Standing feels like the greatest feat in Luciano’s life. He drags his feet across the ground, and works Sofía’s saddle off with shaky hands. Once the saddle joins Brisa’s, Sofía shakes the water off her soaked fur, and showers Luciano with icy little drops.

“S-Stop that, y-you!” he cries as he tries to shelter himself with his hands.

Sofía ignores him, sits on her hind legs and starts licking her golden wet fur. Luciano shots her a miserable glance, soaked wet and freezing cold.

He spreads his feet apart in a solid stance, and focuses, tries to push the cold out of his mind; all it takes it a few slow movements of his hands to drain the water off his soaked clothes until they are dry as if he had never stepped foot into that wretched river. He is left with a blob of translucent water gently drifting in the air, malleable to Luciano’s very command. Luciano simply lets it drop to the ground with no finesse, too miserable to even bother to redirect it back into the river from where it once came.

He proceeds to do the same for Sofía, drains a surprisingly large amount of water from her fur, and lets it drop as well. When he turns, he finds Martín staring at him with wide eyes. Shivering and dripping wet like some drowned frog squirrel.

Luciano doesn’t even wait for him to ask. He takes a wide stance again and drains the water off Martín as well, this time with a rather forceful pull that almost throws Martín into his face.

“Don’t do that again ever again, please,” Martín says with a clipped voice.

“You are  _ welcome _ ,” Luciano rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to drop the blob of water he just drained from Martín’s clothes over his head again - instead, he focuses on drying miserable Brisa’s feathers.

Once he is done and all the four of them are dry, Luciano looks around, trying to figure out where on Earth has the river’s current dragged them; they happen to be surrounded by miles and miles of empty frozen tundra, not even a glimpse of the road they had been following on sight. All he can see is parches of snow and dead bushes as far as the land stretches.

He hugs his arms as a cold breeze sends a shiver down his spine, and raises his head to the sky. The sun is soft and weak, already low in the sky. It is not late, but days are shorter this time of the year in the South - Martín had explained the scientific reason for it but Luciano hadn’t cared to pay much attention.

What Luciano does know is that temperatures will drop with the dark and that they do not want to be caught before nightfall unprepared unless they want to freeze to death.

“I’ll get the t-tents up,” he informs.

“I’ll gather some wood,” Martín agrees, as if reading his mind.

Martín starts gathering whatever dead brushwood he can find while Luciano motions Sofía and Brisa to follow him. He strays from the river in search of dry land, looks around for a nice spot of ground free of snow and vegetation that can work for a campsite.

Once he has found a spot he deems acceptable, he heads for Sofia’s saddle to grab his tent from his bag. He freezes the moment he realises Sofía’s saddle is empty.

“No…” Luciano whispers. He curses, and looks desperately around. “ _ No, no, no _ …”

The damned river must have taken Luciano’s bag; all of his things are gone with the current - the food, his sleeping bag,  _ the tent. _ It is all gone.

He is grabbing his head and cursing furiously at the sky when Martín joins him carrying a bundle of dry logs and twigs under his arm.

“P- _ Please _ tell me you were able t-to save some of your s-stuff,” Luciano begs. 

Martín frowns and drops the wood. He goes for Brisa’s saddle, squats and searches around.

“I lost my bag too,” Martín answers grimly.

“We’re dead,” Luciano says. He looks at Martín with wide eyes, staring past him. “T-There’s nothing in kilometres, just dirt and s-snow - we’re dead, we’re s-so _ dead,  _ why did I let you talk me into t-traveling South…”

“We’re not dead,” Martín snaps at him. “You just need to make a s-snow shelter for us.”

“With what?!” Luciano cries. There is nothing around for them to put together any sort of shelter; just snow, rocks and dead bushes. “Last I checked n-neither of us was an earthbender!”

“Let me rephrase that,” Martín says impatiently. “You can make a shelter out of snow.”

“S-Snow?” Luciano repeats like Martín has lost his mind.

“You’re a waterbender, aren’t you?” Martín replies with a hint of defiance. “Snow is just water. Come on, I’ve seen waterbenders d-do it.”

Luciano has never done this before; hell, he’s never seen snow before some days ago. He is not sure what are the right moves for this, so he goes with what his heart tells him. He finds that Martín is right, snow is just water and responds to Luciano’s moves, even if it struggles to do so. It is harder than waterbending ought to be; snow is unresponsive, lethargic. It feels slow and sluggish, like trying to get a snail sloth to do tricks. It is a little infuriating and frustrating, when Luciano is used to water’s usual quick response.

He manages to build up a snow dome large enough to accommodate the both of them and their mounts. Following Martín’s instruction, he leaves a whole in the roof.

Luciano doesn’t feel particularly comforted when he steps into his shelter. All he can see is white cold snow steaming a soft unnerving icy steam around him, crowding him. It does provide shelter from the wind, but it is far from cozy or warm.

Martín, Sofía and Brisa don’t seem to share his apprehension. Both mounts lay on a corner, bundled together for warmth in a big pile of golden hair and brown feathers. Martín, for his part, already starts arranging the sticks and logs he has found into a little pile. Once he is happy with the preparations to his bonfire, he extends his index and middle finger and points at the wood.

He takes a deep breath, then exhales - and nothing happens.

“S-So?” Luciano prompts.

Martín takes another big breath, fills his lungs and keeps the air in. They remain still and silent for a beat, then two, then three.

Nothing happens.

“I… I can’t,” Martin mumbles with disbelief.

Luciano stares at him with wide eyes.

“You _ c-can’t _ ...” he repeats with flat incredulity.

Luciano watches Martín bite the wool of his fingerless gloves and pull them off. Martín rubs his hands together and points at the stack of wood again with the same result - or lack of therefore.

“You’re j-joking,” Luciano whispers acidly.

“It’s too cold,” Martín explains, sounding slightly flustered.

Luciano cannot believe his ears.

“Y-You’re a  _ firebender _ !” he snaps indignantly. “What g-good are you if you can’t make fire when we need it the m-most?!”

Martín glares at him, his eyes scorching in the cold. His nose is red, and he looks more like a sulky child than his usual snarky self, so the effect is lost on Luciano.

“Where do you think the energy I use c-comes from, genius? It’s body heat,” Martín snaps back. He rubs his hands together vigorously, breathes some of his breath into them. He pouts to himself, and adds; “I just need a moment, o-okay?”

Luciano curses under his breath, brings his knees to chest and hugs himself. He is freezing cold and feels miserable, and if he has to be honest, a little bitter too. The one thing he needed for Martín -  _ the one and only thing he needed from him  _ \- he can’t provide.

“So now w-what?” Luciano muters exasperated. “We cuddle until you’re warm and t-toasty enough to make some f-fire?”

Martín turns to him in surprise, which is not what Luciano was expecting at all.

“... that’s actually not a bad suggestion,” Martín whispers thoughtfully.

Luciano stares at him with narrowed eyes - then, he scoots closer. They might as well try. They are alone, and neither of them is likely to want to bring this up again, so there is no harm done in cuddling for the night.

It doesn’t make it any less awkward. Martín raises his arm with clumsy stiffness and curls it around Luciano’s shoulder. Luciano presses closer against Martín’s firm body and wraps an arm around his waist. Up close, he can feel the soft shivering of Martín’s muscles.

Luciano sighs, and already regretting his decision, he takes the woolen  _ chullo _ and scarf he is hearing and quietly passes them over to Martín.

“I-”

“Take them,” Luciano orders before Martín can argue. “I-If our only chance of surviving the night depends on your firebending, I’d be d-doing the both of us a favor.”

Martín stares at him with wide green eyes and slowly and takes the clothing, as if Luciano just offered him a most precious gift.

“Thank you,” he says and he slips the  _ cullo _ and scarf on.

Martín hesitates for a moment, and then pulls his red _ poncho _ off. Luciano opens his mouth to ask what on Earth does he think he is doing after his selfless sacrifice, but any objection dies in his mouth when Martín pulls him closer and wraps the _ poncho _ around both of their shoulders.

It takes a breathless moment for Luciano to snap out of his surprise and remember his manners.

“T-Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Don’t mention it,” Martín answers back softly with the trace of a smile curling the corner of his lips.

They sit in silence, and Luciano feels an unexpected warmth flush his cheeks. He can’t help to discreetly pinch one of the edges of the  _ poncho _ curiously, to feel the soft worn-out cloth under his fingertips. He hugs the  _ poncho _ tighter around himself, buries half of his face on it, and takes a deep breathe through his nose. It smells like Martín - of the leather he wears, the mate he drinks, the feathers of his mounts, and something else so purely and exclusively Martín that Luciano cannot begin to name.

He silently decides this wasn’t a bad idea in the end; he is starting to feel a little better now that his muscles relax and untense. Martín must agree, because he raises a hand and snaps his fingers, testing his abilities. There is still no real flame, but a few sparks ignite their little snow shelter.

“C-Close,” Martín promises.

He starts rubbing his hands together again, and Luciano sighs defeated. He eyes Martín’s profile, the determination on his frowned brow and pursed lips. He notices a small opened cut on his eyebrow, and perks up - that hadn’t been there before.

Luciano slides a little closer, cups Martín’s jaw and guides his face to his. He purses his lips, and squints. It is a little hard to inspect the cut with so little light, but it is not bleeding, which can’t be a bad sign...

“Luciano?”

Martín is looking at him with wide eyes and a deep blush. It takes a moment for Luciano to register that he is holding Martín’s face to his, much closer than he ought to be.

“S-Sorry!” Luciano lets go. He can feel embarrassment wash over him, and explains; “It’s just t-that you have a cut on y-your eyebrow…”

Martín raises his hand and touches the cut himself. He flinches in pain and surprise.

“Something must’ve hit me in the river,” he says. He looks down at the tip of his fingers, probably checking for blood, and then looks down at Luciano. “Is it bad?”

Luciano frowns, scoots a little closer again and cups Martín’s jaw again. He gently angles his face towards the little light that’s coming from their shelter’s roof opening, and examines the cut. It is deeper than he had anticipated, but after close examination he decides it is not something that will require stitching.

Luciano runs a careful finger over it. If he had his mother’s abilities, he could heal it in the blink of an eye - she is the best waterbender in their tribe, best healer too, but even she could not teach Luciano an ability he did not possess.

“N-No, it’s not,” he answers softly. Here, as close as they are, he has no need to raise his voice. “You’ll live.”

He should let go of Martín now, but strangely enough Luciano realises he doesn’t want to. He feels cemented in this intimate moment - he fears pulling his hand back might shatter it and break whatever this pleasant warm sensation he feels slowly blooming inside his drumming heart is. He stares up to Martín’s eyes, and sees his fragile hesitation mirrored. Luciano’s gaze drops to his lips, so very close to his.

The hand Martín curls around his waist to pull him closer is all the permission Luciano needs to lean forward and kiss him.

It is soft and tender, the kind of slow and lazy Luciano usually favors. He cups Martín’s face with his other hand, and after a long moment frowns to himself. He pulls away only to rise to his knees and climb over Martín, straddle his thighs and claim his lap. He kisses him again, starved for him as Martín runs his hands over the layers of clothing Luciano is wearing. It is not the same as feeling his hands on his skin, but Luciano still relishes the distant pressure.

Martín is the one to suddenly break the kiss, just at the moment Luciano started wondering if it would be possible for him to slide a hand into Martín’s layers of clothing and reach his skin. His hands grasp Luciano’s shoulders, and he pushes him back a little more roughly than necessary. Luciano frowns, wants to protest, but the bewildered look on Martín’s face stops him short; his eyes are wide, his eyebrows raised, and a deep pink colors his cheeks and ears.

Without explanation, Martín closes his eyes and takes a deep inspiration; when he releases the air again, a hot bright breath of fire comes out of his mouth right before Luciano’s very eyes.

Luciano can feel relief wash over him. He watches as Martín raises his hand, and opens his palm; a blue flame ignites in a little violent burst, flimsy and small, and dies out almost as quickly as it appeared.

Martín grunts in frustration, but Luciano takes a firm grip of his face and squashes his cheeks firmly.

“If all it t-rakes to get us some fire is to get your b-blood pumping, Martín, I swear I’ll suck your d-damned dick right here right now,” he promises with a strange angry menacing note in his voice.

Martín stares at him with wide eyes, and the brightest deepest blush Luciano has ever seen rises to his face, irradiating a warmth of its own. Perhaps there won’t be any need for further persuasion to get Martín hot enough to firebend.

**Author's Note:**

> Two bdays in a row, two fics in a roll 💪 Happy bday, Maju, have a lovely day love!


End file.
